Things change

The last time I ate in a St John restaurant was almost 25 years ago. It was the original restaurant in Clerkenwell and Tracy Emin was sat at one of the other tables. After the meal we were given a bag of over cooked Eccles cakes from the bakery.

The son and I ate at the St John in Shoreditch this evening. I told him about Tracy Emin and he told me that in a few years time there might be others who talked about the time they sat down for a meal in St John with him being sat at one of the other tables.

We ordered what we each fancied from the menu and then shared each plate down the middle.

We started with a whole crab with garlic mayonnaise followed by brown shrimps with kohlrabi and chervil. We were tempted by wine but stuck to beer. As a third course we had blood pudding with brown sauce. Unexpectedly this came with a fried egg and I had to overcome my scruples over eating an egg cooked by anyone else than myself.  I am still not sure about it.

Rather to my surprise we moved on to a plate of braised rabbit. We sucked at the bones and ran our fingers round the edge of the plate to pick up every last blast of what we were eating.

It seemed a shame to end it there so we finished with a slice of salted chocolate and caramel pie and a glass of sweet thick sherry.

So for the second time this week the son was sent out into the night replete.

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